


I’ve Got Your Number, Son

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, But what more do you expect from me at this point?, Crack and Angst, Hallucinations, It's a weird collection of things to make a fic, Masturbation, Mild Blood, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Sam tries to get some alone time, his witch-spelled subconscious has other ideas.





	I’ve Got Your Number, Son

Witches, curses, and strange potions in tiny bottles smashed right in his face.

It had been a long case. A quick hunt that only went _somewhat_ awry, but a long case.

The room was murky, even the overhead light not filling the space all that effectively. Pockets of shadows and red lights through the window making everything seem gritty and harsh.

Dean had buggered off somewhere - Sam vaguely remembered hearing a grunt that sounded something like “food, beer,” before the door swung shut and he was alone in the motel room.

Alone was good. He needed alone. Needed to blow off some steam.

And by blow of steam he meant jerk off. Quickly, preferably, before Dean reappeared - and before his very fuzzy head decided enough was enough and ceased all major functions for the rest of the night. There had to be time to get it done before exhaustion overwhelmed him.

With no need for finesse Sam laid back on the creaky bed, pants shoved open and down until the denim bunched around his thighs _just_ enough to more comfortably free his cock.

One hand, close eyes, rub.

Wait.

Lube, hand, eyes closed, lay back. Just right, just like that -

“That really the best you've got?”

Sam's eyes snapped open at the sound of… his own voice?

Yes. That was his voice. Sitting across on the opposite bed, there he was - Sam, another Sam.

A _younger_ Sam? It… _he_ looked like he had when he was at Stanford.

“What,” he began.

“I thought by now we'd be past the urgent tugging on a half hard dick just to get the job done. Still worried about someone walking in? At your age?”

Sam stopped pumping with his right hand circled around his cock, mouth slack jawed in surprise. And confusion, definitely some confusion. His vision swam in and out of focus, half distracted by the swathe of falling shadows.

“How are you…?” He didn’t feel particularly worried, come to think of it, but the situation didn’t make much sense either. His thoughts were so slow, trailing leisurely in circles.

“Don’t stop on my account,” his younger self said sullenly, scooting back to mirror Sam’s pose on the bed.

And Sam didn’t, he really didn’t care about being watched, not like it was something he hadn’t seen before. Both of him, either, together.

He jerkily moved his hand, trying to find the rhythm that had been interrupted.

“You should twist more, around the head, we always liked that."

Sam looked sideways at himself, who had reclined back in the exact same pose he was laid in. His younger self was brushing his own hand over his clothed cock, looking wantonly at Sam’s exposed one.

Sam rubbed a thumb over his slit, and twisted his wrist, “Yeah, just like that,” his other self breathed.

Sam lifted his leg a little, bending the knee, trying to block the line of sight. Which was pretty useless but it kept his hips at a nice angle all the same.

He kept moving, hand sliding, before another voice said “What he really needs is to close that fist a little tighter, make it heat up a little, _hurt_ a little.”

Sam lifted his head and saw another self leaning against the bathroom door. He groaned.

“Knew you’d like that,” doorway-Sam smirked.

“How are you here, let me have some peace asshole,” because he knew this Sam too, this was a leviathan in a conveniently shaped Sam-suit, posing as him.

“Same as him,” he pointed at the young Sam on the opposite bed, “you headcase, we're nothing but air. Just some of those brain cells of yours got crossed by that witch spell."

“Great,” Sam muttered, “can’t get enough false visions for one lifetime.”

But he listened to the other one, and squeezed a little harder, moved a little slower, just to feel it.

He cracked open his eye again to see Stanford-Sam copying him, dick out, trousers scrunched low on his hips. He smiled, he smiled back.

Sam felt very far away, and a little over warm. His hand felt so _good_ and everything was so _smooth_. It almost wasn’t enough friction.

A dishevelled, broken down and torn up apparition appeared in his line of sight, and grimaced.

Teeth bloody, chin dripping, back of a hand coming up to wipe it away, all dark and brooding.

Sam gasped on the bed and stilled.

“Thought about adding a little something extra?” his demon blood addicted self asked.

Sam frowned and watched his careless, carefree self lean over the motel table, trousers dropped and fingers reaching back until he was working himself open. Wrist bent in and back as he smoothed the way with the blood on his hand and jerked his shoulder to crook his fingers _just right_.

Sam pumped his fist harder because _yeah_ that did sound good, he couldn't quite manage to make himself move to copy the position but _damn_ he could imagine it.

He moved his hand and imagined pressure, stretch and burn and firework happy sensation. Not too much, just an inch or two and a finger curling _just_ _so_.

“Hmm, yes, you always did need a bit of imagination to get there didn't you?” said a low, inky voice beside him.

Sam turned in incredulity, finding Gadreel perched on the chest of drawers next to the bed.

“You… you’re not me!”

“Spent enough time in that head of yours to know what you like, though, didn’t I?”

Sam burned at the thought, and his hips jerked upwards involuntarily, chasing the fist that had stopped moving.

“You don’t know me,” Sam slurred, “it’s not - it’s not the same as knowing me!”

“I know you like to think that, but I’ve seen every thought you have, and a small amount of dirty fantasy always got you moving quicker.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” said the Sam with blood on his teeth, still bent over the table, finger fucking himself into a breathless mess, “there’s no one here but you."

Except there kind of was, Gadreel wasn’t him, the leviathan was just a pile of black goo pretending to be him. It was awful, and a turn on and Sam’s addled mind mixed it all up together.  
Humiliation had always been something that got his engine running, the fear of being caught or seen making his heart race and his cock twitch. Ruby was proof of that if nothing else.

“Come on Sam,” Gadreel said, “think of something you really want, before-"

“Before I happen,” said a silky, even keeled voice.

He stepped out of the gloom, white suit, perfectly combed hair and all - just how Dean described him.

“Before _he_ happens,” Gadreel growled.

Lucifer.

Always there, too close to the surface.

Sam stalled, paled. Usually it was only a thought, a memory, but this, appearing right before his eyes speaking and moving made it worse.

He convulsed, hand twisting and the other clutching the sheets as he blinked, startled.

“See, Sammy, I taught you so much you didn’t know!” Lucifer crooned from his own lips, “how you could like the fear and the pain.”

Sam gasped, hand sliding, heart racing.

“How I could make you come, and even through all that, how you loved it.”

“Ignore him,” his college self spat, “he’s not worth listening to.”

Except, sometimes, he really was and if everything would just slow down so Sam could think maybe he could figure out how all this fit together but there wasn’t space or quiet enough for that.

So instead he sped up, needing it over now, got to be done, got to get his head right.

“See, there you go, no need to pretend you’re not into it,” Lucifer said, tilting his head with a mocking smile, “no ‘I swear it wasn’t my fault, a man with six fingers on his right hand came on me!’ this is all you, why not own it?”

Sam didn’t even know what he was saying, what any of them were meaning it was all a jumble and everyone was talking, urging him on in their own ways. _Go faster, slow down, squeeze like that._

Lucifer wearing his face and skin walked right up to the bed, looking down in disdain.

His younger self was gasping at the way his thin bony hands slid up and down his own cock, pure bliss on his face.

The Leviathan in the corner was sneering at them all, talking about human weakness and the crude ways they pleasured themselves and how Sam should just pull the orgasm out, yank on his cock until he was raw and sore but done.

Gadreel was quietly urging, willing Sam to find the right pace, saying all the dirty things Sam always wanted to think but never voiced.

And his blood stained counterpart winked and sucked the blood from his fingers, fingers that slipped back into his ass a second later, thrusting and widening. It was crude, and it was Sam and all of it was everything he wanted and everything he didn’t dare to consider.

He had both hands clasped together now fingers entwined, making one loose fist to fuck into, hips bucking and he was so close, tipping over and if they’d all just shut _up._

He came with a wild thumping heart, screaming _shut up shut up_ as come spurted from his cock, coating his fists and clothes.

As the aftershocks jolted through him he opened his eyes and found Dean standing stunned in the doorway.

“Dean…” Sam said, glancing round the room and finding it empty now.

Dean hurried in and shut the door, looking at Sam with unease.

“You know, when we're sharing a room the bathroom might be a better place to do that.” Dean said with a huff.

“There wasn't time, and you were gone...”

“Well, I'm back now so tuck yourself away so we can eat will ya?”

“Hmmphhh, s’all muddled anyway, didn't even get to enjoy it,” Sam whispered, tongue feeling over large and burdensome between his teeth. “You might as well have been here y'know,” he said louder “more the merrier - one too many cooks spoiling the hand in the cookie jar as it is.”

“Feeling alright over there?”

“No, not sure, Dean…” Sam tried to roll his head, to sit up, but ended up in a heap of limbs on top of the mattress - sticky hand and thrust down jeans and all.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, slurring.

“I can see that,” Dean said, concern written clear all over his face, “told you that witches brew was gonna come back to bite us on the ass.”

“No-one bit me!” Sam said indignant, “they just had some differing opinions on how I should, you know,” he made a jerking gesture with his hand, imitating the act he’d just accomplished.

“They?” Dean asked alarmed. He had his hand on Sam's forehead now and Sam wasn't sure when he'd crossed the room.

“Think I’m hallucinating, Lucifer, me… all sorts of me,”

“I’m gonna call Cas, get him to come fix you up, just hang tight okay."

Sam laughed, he was hanging brain alright he thought, as he looked down at his now soft cock.

“Dean, we just, we just had to get all our ducks on the same page. And then it worked, got them to shut up,” he mumbled.

“Sure you did Sammy, just… stay awake a few minutes longer, you hear, just until Cas gets whatever it is out of your system.”

“Mmm,” Sam answered, not at all sure that was really on the cards. He was so tired, and so sated now, and everything was quiet again. Never mind Cas and his eyes and his hands and the fact that he’d see Sam all disheveled, Sam could just take a nap until he got here and not think about it.

“Cas hey, something’s up with Sam he’s in a bad way… yeah, okay, thanks. We’re at the motel on the corner of...”

Sam's thoughts drifted off as Dean relayed their information and he was halfway gone when he felt hands trying to drag his briefs and pants back up over his ass. He swatted uselessly at the intrusion into his heavy lidded slumber.

“Come on you big tree, help me out here, no need for Cas to see -”

A flutter of wings and a gruff voice and Sam groaned, he could never catch a break.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written masturabtion before I don’t think? This was a weird way to go about it really wasn’t it.  
> So, it’s Coldest Hits time again in case you were wondering, [find info here!](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/175912371415/spncoldesthits-mixed-metaphors-and-terrible)  
> Check out some of the other fics in the collection!
> 
>  
> 
> [ Title from the song of the same name by She and Him](https://youtu.be/6B8p_R8d9DA)
> 
>  Which I listened to after coming up with this idea, and although it's a break up song the lyrics weirdly sort of fit here:
> 
> Who's a man without all the attention, well he's just a man  
> Why do you fear no-one will hear what you've got to say  
> Who am I without all your affections I'm a nobody too  
> I'm not above being unloved if that's how I've got to pay
> 
> And you can tell everyone, everyone, that I've got your number son  
> And I can shine a light on I can shine a light on too 
> 
> I don't wanna spend night after night with you, while you figure it out  
> You're getting restless I'm getting restless looking at you  
> I don't wanna be your rock in hard times, 'cause I figured you out  
> You're not a man who can understand anyone but you


End file.
